


Heart of the Pack

by Spitshine



Series: The Nogistune Files [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkward Werewolf Sex Talk, Biting, Blowjobs, Body Worship, Bondage, Canon Compliant (except Derek's car), Fisting, Forgiveness, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, M/M, Mates, PTSD, Pack Feels, Praise Kink, Recovery, Rimming, Rutting, Scent Marking, Scott McCall is a Good Alpha, Self-Blame, Soul Bond, Sweetfucking, informed consent, it's not that I especially like the Camaro I just hate SUVs, sexual healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spitshine/pseuds/Spitshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doing something so intimate with someone who looked exactly like the object of his affections—not to mention that whole knotting disaster—is really fucking with Derek. Eventually (with just the slightest prodding from Scott) he can't keep it in and finds Stiles to admit what had happened. Stiles thinks he's having a post-possession guilt-induced hallucination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Two (painful guilt processing) up by the end of the week, to be followed in short order by Chapter Three (comic interlude in the form of awkward werewolf sex talks) and Chapter Four (sexysexy feels sex).
> 
> A bajillion thanks to everyone who kudoed/commented on part one; it really encouraged me to get this up in a semi-timely fashion!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning at the end.

Scott knows Derek has been avoiding him, avoiding all of them, since they managed to finally rid themselves of the nogitsune three weeks ago, but it takes a while for him to pull himself out of his own grief and realize what's really going on. He goes looking—the warehouse, the preserve, even the pool where Stiles once kept Derek afloat for hours—before he realizes how stupid he's being and checks the most obvious location.

He finds Derek perched on the roof of Stiles' house, in the same place—if the staleness of his scent trail is anything to go by—he's been for hours.

“You should really talk to him.”

“No.”

“He deserves to know.”

“He'll hate me.”

Scott sucks in a deep breath and mentally prepares himself to use his new, mostly untested, Voice of the Alpha powers but when he looks up, Derek is already leaping to the next rooftop, running off into the night with powerful springs of his bunching muscles.

*

Three days later, Scott cuts last period (his math grade can't get much worse, really) and heads to Derek's. He doesn't bother with any of the generally accepted social niceties, like knocking or going through the door, because when in Rome, right? Instead, he just bounds up the fire escape in hopes he can corner Derek before the guy figures out what's happening and takes off.

He... well, he won't be doing that again.

Derek is flat on his back on the floor, cursing into the wadded up T-shirt covering his face, fully dressed except where his dick is thrusting through the fly of his jeans and into both of his hands and, shit, the guy is _hung_. Except... “Are you seriously knotting your hand right now?”

Derek is up in an instant, crouching in a pose that can only be read as “getting ready to flee” and this time, Scott breaks out the alpha voice in time.

“You stay. We're talking this out. But... put that away, okay?”

Derek scowls, clearly trying to fight the command of his alpha but unable to. “Can't,” he mutters sullenly. “Knot won't fit.” But he does pick the T-shirt up from where it'd fallen and drape it over his crotch.

Scott can see the word “ADULTS” as well as a hand in the shape of scissors peering up at him from the faded red cloth. “Is that—you know what, I really don't want to know. And I don't want to be doing this, either, but I'm the alpha and I want to be a good one. And whatever is going on with you, Derek, it has to stop. It's tearing the pack apart. It's tearing _Stiles_ apart and even if I wasn't his alpha, I'd still be his best friend. So. What the hell, man? What's going on with you?”

Derek just stares at the ceiling, muscles in his jaw working.

“I mean, I can have both halves of this conversation, but I don't think that will work out quite as well. Look, I don't know exactly what went down when the nogitsune visited you, seemed mostly concluded by the time we showed up, but you're damn lucky that Mom and Stiles aren't werewolves because the smell in here, holy crap-” Scott shuts himself up quick, because Derek has started talking, but it's so quiet even werewolf ears can barely pick up on it.

“After the split, he—it—the nogitsune, he came here to—to rape me, I think. He had been in Stiles' thoughts, all of his thoughts, knew that he wanted—and so he came here, to hurt me, to hurt Stiles, to make Stiles feel guilty. He said... he said that he wanted to take from me the only thing no one else had. My consent. And it's true—Kate, and Jennifer, they used me and lied to me and maybe my answer would have been different if I had known, but at the time I wanted it. At the time I said yes.”

Scott can tell it's hard for Derek to talk, knows he should just let him keep going, but he can't let that slide, he just can't let Derek think that that's _true_. “You know that's not how consent works, right? It has to be informed. You have to know what you're consenting to, and if you're being lied to, you can't do that.”

“But I said 'yes.' I said I wanted it. I did want it.”

“You—okay, you know what, this is a whole different conversation that we will be having. Soon. But first we're going to finish talking about what happened that night.”

Derek looks disappointed, like he'd rather discuss his truly awful romantic history than shed any light whatsoever on what happened between him and the nogitsune, and Scott feels pretty crappy about this, but he knows that look means this is exactly what they need to be talking about. Derek takes a couple deep breaths, steadying himself, and continues, still in a whisper. “He said he was going to take away my consent, and I couldn't let that happen. I knew Stiles would never forgive himself, even though it wasn't him. I tried to fight him off, but I couldn't bring myself to hurt someone who looked just like, who _smelled_ just like... I couldn't fight him off.

“And I—it was probably my only chance to be with Stiles, and I went for it. Because I'm a horrible person. Because I deserve for Stiles to hate me. And I know I should tell him, that I have it coming when he never wants to see or talk to me again, but I'm a fucking coward.” He sags down into himself, hides his face in his palms. “Have you ever had a knot?”

Scott's too thrown to talk for a second, just shakes his head no before realizing Derek can't see him. “No. I thought it was an urban legend, or maybe like a born wolf thing...”

“It's a pheromones thing. Your body recognizes the smell of your mate and—I knew I liked Stiles, that I wanted him, but there just aren't enough pheromones to trigger it until you're—I went down on him, Scott, and I got a knot, and I can't just—if he hates me, that's it. I don't get a mate. I could find someone else, maybe.” He laughs hollowly, not amused at all. “Could find someone else to love, who loved me back, but the wolf—that part of me would never be satisfied.”

“Shit, dude.”

Derek looks up and Scott kinda wishes he hadn't. His eyes are flat and dead; his face is somehow utterly blank and consumed by despair at the same time. “Yeah. Shit.”

“You still have to tell him. Even more, now. Well, the mates thing I guess is up to you, but he deserves to know. If he hates you or not, that's his choice. I know you, Derek, I know you're a good guy under the scowls and leather jacket and everything, and I know you don't want to take that from him.”

There's no breath behind Derek's words at all, but from the motion of his lips, Scott is pretty sure he says, “You're right.”

“For what it's worth, I don't think he'll hate you. I know him pretty well, so there's a dozen years of best bro knowledge on your side, but also, the nogitsune came here in the first place because of what he saw in Stiles' mind, right? That has to mean something.”

“Like maybe that he's a teenage boy who is desperate to get laid? I know you smell it on him, he'd probably fuck anything that looked twice at him.”

“Stiles isn't like that, okay? Yes, he's a teenage boy and yes, he's horny a lot but—he wouldn't—he's not _like that_ , he wants it to mean something. He didn't have eyes for anyone but Lydia for almost ten years and the only reason he was gonna do anything with Heather is that they had history, they'd played together before they were even potty trained, so it might not have been true love, but it still would have meant something! And, oh shit, he is gonna kill me for saying this, but—he doesn't smell like that all the time, alright?”

“But whenever I see him-”

“Whenever you see him, he's _around you_. It's a little more information than a friend needs sometimes, actually, but I can't not smell him.”

Derek is visibly taken aback. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. Now _go talk to him_. I'm not leaving until you can come back and tell me honestly you told him what went down.” He probably doesn't even need the extra edge of growl in his voice then; Derek looks pretty convinced, but it's there just in case.

“Uh. It doesn't—by itself—I mean, I still need to...” He glances meaningfully down at the T-shirt still bunched in his lap.

“Yeah... yeah. I'll go. You do that. But if I don't hear from one of you by tomorrow that you talked it all over, there will be hell to pay. And give him back his shirt. He loves that shirt!” He turns to go—through the actual door and down the actual stairs this time—but stops and looks over his shoulder when he hears Derek call his name. “Yeah?”

“You're too much of a teddy bear to really pull off the 'big bad alpha' thing, you know.”

Scott just flashes his eyes and keeps going. If he's fast, he can stop someone from his math class on their way out and get their notes.

*

Derek comes, quick but unsatisfying, whimpering into the T-shirt once again crumpled over his face, and then lays there while he waits for the knot to go down, quietly dreading the conversation he's about to have. He _could_ have squeezed his dick into his pants even before coming, could now if he really had to, but it would hurt like hell and, okay, he's putting this for off as long as possible.

He stays there, lying on the floor, not moving except to nuzzle Stiles' T-shirt long after his knot has gone down and his cock softened, until he's certain practice is over and Stiles has gone home—Scott definitely wouldn't let him do anything that might make it hard for Derek to find him tonight. He sighs heavily and gets up, shuffles over to the shower. He stands under the water until it goes cold but doesn't even pretend to wash himself. After that, he goes into autopilot, doesn't pay any attention to getting dressed or leaving the loft—if he doesn't think, he doesn't have to think about what he's about to do—and only comes back to himself when he's in Stiles' yard, staring up at the light spilling through the open window.

And then he's staring up at Stiles' face, beautiful and confused and peering down at him. “Derek? What are you doing down there? I thought-” and Derek doesn't let him finish, instead leaps up to the grab the window sill and swing himself into the room in one smooth motion, barely managing to catch Stiles instead of knocking the boy onto his ass as he lands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Derek discuss what happened between Derek and the nogitsune (the events of "Reap What You Sow") but no new non-consensual things go down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angstangstangst then cuuuuute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Shoutout to Robin Hobb, from whose book I stole the title for this!  
> [2] Trigger warning at the end.  
> [3] It is occasionally embarrassing how easily I am conditioned, and I got, like, _immediate_ comments and loves on chapter one, so I went and wrote chapter two right the fuck away and here it is, because y'all are great.

Derek looks down at his feet (bare, he'd apparently forgotten about shoes in his nervousness) shuffling anxiously on the carpet. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah, um, Scott said something about—said you had something to tell me.”

“I do. It's—can you be patient with me here? I'm not good at talking.”

“Well, you know I fill all gaps in conversation instinctively, but I'll do what I can to let you get a word in edgewise.”

“It's not really the time for joking.”

“Okay. I'll... I can try to be serious. Really. Uh. Do you wanna come in?” Stiles looks as anxious as Derek feels, clearing his throat and fidgeting with the blanket as they sit next to each other on the bed. “Scott just said it's really important and it's about why you've been so, you know, gone, but he said it 'wasn't his place' to tell me and he refused to even say what it's about, so... I mean, can you give me a general idea before you get started? It'll probably help me stay quiet.”

“It's about what happened after you and the nogitsune split.”

Stiles immediately pales, moles standing out sharply against his chalky face. “Whatever I did—I'm so sorry, I never meant to-”

“Stiles. Stop. It's not about what you did. It's about what _I_ did, and what it means.” Derek stumbles into his story, awkwardly getting through the arrival of the nogitsune and what happened. He chokes a little when he starts talking about the knot, and he can feel his face burning—does Stiles even know that wolves can have knots?

“Derek? What the fuck are you talking about? Is this—this isn't even fucking _real_ , is it, just another shitty hallucination playing tricks on my fragile human mind.”

“No! Stiles, I-”

“There's no way, no mother _fucking_ way, that the insanely hot werewolf of my dreams has just appeared in my room after avoiding me for—for three. Damn. Weeks.” Stiles is up, pacing back and forth in his cramped room, gesticulating wildly. “To apologize, no less, for having sex with me. And, I think, for not hurting me worse? Like I said, I'm obviously losing it. You can't really expect me to make sense of this kind of situation in my current state of mind.”

“Of your... we can talk about that in a minute. Stiles, I'm real! I'm here!”

“Prove it. Say something I couldn't imagine you saying.”

“But you're the most imaginative person I know!”

“I could have imagined you saying that.” Stiles flops back onto the bed, sounding resigned. “You're definitely fake. Figment of the Stiles' imagination.”

Derek lets the extraneous use of the third person slide; no need to point out to Stiles that he actually does sound a little crazy. “I'm really here, and I'm not—this happened, okay? It's the whole reason I've been avoiding you! I feel horrible about it, but Scott said I need to come clean, that you're the heart of the pack and me being gone is tearing you apart, and he's right, you deserve the truth. If you want to hate me for what I did, if you want me to leave and never talk to you or the pack again, that's... that's your prerogative. It will suck, but I'm the one who fucked up. You don't deserve to be punished for it.”

“Whatever, pretend Derek. Like I'm the heart of the pack—please, I'm not even a wolf. Like you being gone from my life forever isn't punishment for me. Like I'm not really to blame. _I_ should be apologizing to _you_ , but you're not even here, so what's the point?”

Derek loses it then, puts his hands on Stiles like he used to in the good ol' days, when they still mostly hated each other (or, at least, told themselves they did) and Derek didn't feel so damn guilty for what the feel of Stiles in his hands did to him. He shakes Stiles, just enough to get him to make eye contact, and can't help but yell. “God damn it, Stiles, I'm serious! What can I do to make you believe this is real?”

“Reading helps,” Stiles whispers, but his eyes are closed, like he can't be bothered to prove himself right.

“You... want me to read to you?”

“I mean, yes, but that won't prove anything except that my fantasies have taken a turn away from the explicit and towards the sickeningly domestic. When I was possessed—which apparently I still am, that fucking sucks, Dad is gonna be so bummed when he figures it out—anyway, you can't read in dreams. Or hallucinations. The letters won't stay put. When the nogitsune was in me but we hadn't figured it out yet, I couldn't read. Because it didn't let me see what was really in front of me. At some level, everything that happened to me during that entire time was just a dream. I couldn't tell it apart from reality. Not like now. Now I've learned.” Stiles had collapsed onto himself, Derek's hands the only thing holding him up, but suddenly every muscle is alive, taut and arching back, twisting out of Derek's grip as he he screams, “This is fake! Fake! Fake!”

Derek has no idea what to do, has never been great at comforting (always seems to say exactly the wrong thing, no matter the situation, no matter how hard he tries), but he's worried Stiles is going to hurt himself, and he has no idea where the sheriff is, so he has to do _something_. He gently lowers Stiles to the bed, tries rubbing his back in a soothing manner, but the scrawny human is stronger than he looks and won't stay still. So Derek drapes himself over half of Stiles' torso, effectively pinning the writhing body, and whispers... he's honestly not sure what comes out of his mouth, but it appears to be soothing, because Stiles eventually stops moving and meows a little, flexing up into the hand slowly stroking his ribs and stomach. “That's better,” Derek murmurs. “Is it okay if I get up for a second? I'm just going to get a book; I'll be right back.”

“Not yet.” Stiles' breath is hot against Derek's neck. “I want to enjoy my fantasy cuddles a little while longer before you melt into the ether.”

And fuck if Derek's heart doesn't crack at that, just a little. It's finally starting to sink in that if he hadn't fucked everything up so epically, he might actually have a chance with Stiles, but he did and he doesn't, so that's neither here nor there. But he can absolutely get on board the “let's enjoy this while we can” train, so he snuggles in closer, hating himself that much more for doing so, because if whatever Scott was saying about informed consent was true, well. Stiles definitely does not know what he's consenting to. That's okay, though; he's supposed to be the bad guy here. He's the one who doesn't deserve Stiles, not the other way around, and whatever he has to do to keep that dynamic, to keep Stiles from blaming himself, is fine by him.

Eventually, though, he starts to get pins and needles in the arm trapped under Stiles, and he really wants to get this over with before Stiles falls asleep. “I'm going to get up now. But I really will be right back. Ssshh.” Derek gently untangles himself before Stiles has a chance to do much more than whimper, grabs the nearest book from the bookcase, and settles himself in the big spoon position. “Here. You must like this book, the spine is all broken.”

“That was Scott!” Stiles protests. “I am so, so careful with books. But it is good.”

Derek sneaks a look at the cover. Robin Hobb, _Assassin's Apprentice_. “But do you like it?”

“Yeah... s'good. Robin Hobb... she's great.” Stiles sounds sleepy, but Derek suspects he's just fighting anything that might bring him out of his so-called dream.

“Can you read the cover?”

“That doesn't prove anything. I know the cover.”

“So read to me.” Derek flips open to a page a random, shoves the book into Stiles' face. He can't see the face in question, doesn't know if those eyes are even open and isn't certain the boy is reading at all, when suddenly Stiles is shaking in his arms, trembling uncontrollably and struggling to suck in shallow, raspy breaths.

“I can—it's real—the no—I—you—how?”

Derek doesn't know what to do in the face of a panic attack, not really, but he can tell this is one and knows that Stiles needs to fucking breathe, so he flips Stiles onto his back and pinches the boy's nose shut, leaning in close before he has time to stop and think. Stiles' mouth is open and gasping, working uselessly for air in front of him, and he sucks in one huge breath before latching on, exhaling in a slow, strong whoosh that Stiles' lungs can't help but accept. He does this again, and again, not bothering to take in new air—Stiles needs to work his own diaphragm more than he needs oxygen—until it seems Stiles is more whimpering helplessly into his mouth than struggling for air and pulls himself away with more than a few regrets.

“It's true? What you said?”

Derek nods, tries to hold eye contact, to own his mistake, but fails after a few seconds. He doesn't have the courage to look at Stiles, but he can't help but smell, and he doesn't smell heady arousal any longer; he smells a sick, sour smell, like embarrassment or worse. Like shame. Guilt. The apologies just bubble out. “I'm so fucking sorry, I know, I know it was a horrible thing to do—I know there's really no way to make it up to you. If you never forgive me, I'll understand.”

“What the actual fuck, Derek? You can't just—can't just come in here and tell me that you had sex with me and you fucked up and then give me the world's best panic attack care! How the fuck do you expect me to feel about that? You're what? Sorry I got possessed? Sorry I'm so fucking obsessed with you that even after that, that _thing_ split off from me, you were still the first thing I went to?” Stiles is up again, pacing and furious, mouth wide and distorted as he flails and screams. Derek doesn't want to look, doesn't want to face what he's done, but he can't help it, gazes up at Stiles through his lashes to avoid actual eye contact. “Sorry we had sex? Sorry you liked it? Sorry your wolf likes me enough to do that knot thing, whatever that is? You know what, those are shitty fucking things to be sorry for!” Stiles collapses against the window, forehead pressed to the cool glass, and continues in a broken whisper. “The only thing you did wrong was avoid me for a couple weeks and that's not even that bad, it's not like—I mean, Allison is dead. And that's on me, this is on me, everything is on me. Nothing that happened is your fault, okay, it's my fault. All. My. Fault.”

“Those—Stiles, you were _possessed_ , it wasn't you, it wasn't your fault. It was the nogitsune's fault and it's still the nogitsune's fault. I—I am sorry, I am so fucking sorry, but not for the reasons you said. I just, I had sex with your body when you weren't in it to say yes or no. I _raped_ you Stiles, there's nothing I can ever do to make that right.”

“Really? 'Cause from where I'm sitting, you took a fucking bullet for me. You said I went to your loft-”

“No, I said the _nogitsune_ came to my loft,” Derek growls.

“Fine, whatever. That thing went to your loft, said it was going to rape you, which you know damn well I would never forgive myself for, and you stopped it. You saved me from hating myself for the rest of my life. Well, for that, at least.”

“But—I could have, I mean, I could have done it another way, I didn't have to rape you to do it, I could have tied him up or something, I could have fought harder.”

Stiles crosses the room again, folds down on his knees between Derek's legs, and looks up at him with unreadable emotion spilling from his eyes. “You want me to forgive you? I forgive you. But there's nothing to forgive here, I should be thanking you. You couldn't bring yourself to hurt me, so you found another way to save me from myself, and I can't ever blame you for that.”

“But I... I liked it. I knew how wrong it was, and I still did it, and I still liked it. It's like I'm... I feel like Kate,” Derek spat in disgust. “Maybe you can forgive me, but I can't forgive myself. I don't deserve you.”

“Oh... Der, c'mon, don't be like that.” Stiles looks up at him, face open now, shining and just a little pornographic, and Derek hates himself just a little more, because this is so not the time. “I'll talk some sense into you later, okay? For now, can we... will you hold me?”

“Sure.” He waits until they're settled on the bed, Stiles wrapped up securely in his arms and the blanket tucked securely around them both, before speaking again. “Stiles?”

“Hmm.”

“There's still—we didn't—I need to explain about the, about the knot.”

“Can it wait? I'm so sleepy.”

“Yeah, it can wait.”

*

On his way home the next morning, Derek stops at the library to use their computers. He orders himself a bunch of T-shirts with words on them. He doesn't really care what they say, just goes for the smallest, most difficult to read text he can find. Then, feeling optimistic, adds a couple pairs of pajama pants (these completely covered in text) to his cart.

He hesitates a few seconds before buying the underwear that pops up in the “you might also like” section. It's silly, and has cats on it, and he'll probably never actually get a chance to wear it, but it also has a poem about kitties repeating on it. Except for the cat right on the crotch, every square inch has text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek argue about what happened in the prequel and if it was rape and if so, who is at fault, and it's not graphic or anything but they do you use the rape word a lot (much like this trigger warning but I just don't know how else to do it).


	3. Comic Interlude

Scott wakes everyone up Saturday morning with a flurry of texts.

Scott: 7:36 a.m.  
Pack meeting today.  
7:36 a.m.  
MANDATORY

Lydia: 7:36 a.m  
Where?

Scott: 7:38 a.m.  
At Derek's house.

Lydia: 7:38 a.m.  
I'll be there, but I'm bringing my math so you ingrates don't bore me.

Scott: 7:39 a.m.  
Good. I don't care WHAT you have to tell your dad, Stiles, you will be there.

Stiles: 7:40 a.m.  
Okay, dude, I get it, no need to tell everyone.

Isaac: 7:42 a.m.  
Like we don't all know you're grounded-without-being-grounded.

Scott: 7:42 a.m.  
Cool it, everyone! Noon sharp. At Derek's.

Derek: 7:45 a.m.  
Thanks for consulting me.

Malia: 7:45 a.m.  
Turning phone off, going back to sleep. But I'll be there.

Scott: 7:45 a.m.  
Rank has its privileges. :)  
7:46 a.m.  
Plus you don't live with your parent.  
7:46 a.m.  
Or my parent.

Isaac: 7:47 a.m.  
Dude! I'm right here, you can rub it in to my face.

Derek: 7:49 a.m.  
Fine.

Stiles: 7:49 a.m.  
My dad's working but I called him and said I don't feel like being alone today so I can go to the pack meeting but probably also have to go to therapy. You're fucking welcome.

No one replies to that, but Stiles tries not to dwell. Everyone knows that Derek is way to old to text competently, Lydia has been surprisingly kind to him since the nogitsune was defeated, Malia is most likely already asleep (wild coyotes apparently sleep whenever they're not hunting, and girl has been missing her powernaps), and Scott and Isaac have been acting super weird lately.

It's not like he's going back to sleep, so. He shrugs and rolls over to power up his computer, thinking he can at least get some research done while he's waiting to go over to Derek's. Normally he'd just go over now and annoy the guy until everyone else showed up, but after the last time they saw each other, that just sounds awkward.

*

Stiles rolls in around a quarter to (because honestly? he kinda doesn't want to be alone) and spends a few minutes awkwardly scuffing his feet and failing at avoiding making eye contact with Derek, who keeps staring at him with this combination of _hope/longing/guilt_ that just cuts Stiles to bone.

And then Lydia comes in at five of, beautiful, wonderful Lydia who immediately settles herself at the table and pulls out a graduate-level math text that just might outweigh her, and Stiles begins making relentless conversation—well, it's more _at_ her than _with_ her, but still. It helps.

Malia arrives at 12:02, mutters “Motherfucker isn't even here,” and collapses in a heap, fake snoring loudly until Scott and Isaac get there, looking disheveled (Scott) and flushed (Isaac).

“You're late, alpha,” Stiles points out unhelpfully.

Isaac shouts, “Bike trouble!” at the same moment Scott says, “Had to bring something to my mom,” and they look at each other guiltily.

“Not that you ever _could_ lie to room full of weres,” Lydia points out primly, “but if you're going to try, you should at least get your stories straight.”

“Right. Straight. We are.” Scott visibly shakes himself and adjusts his posture. “Okay, so this isn't a pack meeting per se, but more of an educational session. It has... come to my attention recently that pack knowledge is lacking in... certain areas.”

“Research time!” Stiles' joyful attempt at a high five is met only by Lydia's withering stare.

“Actually, we don't need any research about this. I know buddy, but I'm sure you'll find another way to get sucked into a wikipedia binge. Today, uh, well, first I'm going to give you all, um, just a little overview on good consent models and how it works and how it is totally not a moment-killer. And then Derek is going to tell us about the... aspects of sex that are... specific to werewolves.”

“WHAT?” Derek might get worked up and aggressive from time to time, but he hardly ever yells.

“Jesus, my _ears_ ,” Stiles moans.

“Yeah, I didn't want you to bail on us, so I didn't tell you before. But you're obviously the expert here and everyone else in the pack either is a were or does have sex with them or-”

“Is Stiles,” the non-were, non-sex-haver in question interjects morosely.

“-Or might have sex with them, I was going to say, so this is something we all need to know and, according to Stiles, there's very little information available on the internet.”

“Thanks for that, man, way to be a bro.” Stiles attempts to hide behind his backpack. “But actually, what I said was that there's very little information that _looks accurate_. There's a lot of information. Like, a lot a lot. A little disturbing. Almost.”

“I so did not need to know that,” Isaac groans. “Please, just shut up and never speak again.”

The silence lingers. “Right, so, consent!” Stiles is incredibly grateful that Scott's unflappable cheer can win out in any situation, because this is already kinda painful and it hasn't even started yet. “Consent is... very important. And there's a lot more to it than just not saying no. You both—or all three, or however many-”

“Did not need to know _that_ about my alpha,” Malia says.

“Already knew that!” Lydia chirps with a pointed look at Scott and Isaac, who blushes further.

“Moving on! The point is, everyone involved needs to say yes, and to know what they're agreeing to, _and_ be in a fit state of mind to consent. That means no drinking, no drugs, no sleeping, no...”

“Possession, don't tiptoe around it on my account, dude.”

“No possession, probably best to stay away from situations where people are really emotionally distraught and not feeling themselves. And I really can't understate how important the 'informed' part of this is. If someone is lying to you, about who they are or what kind of relationship they want, that's not informed consent. If they say love you and they don't, that's not informed consent. If they say they want a relationship and they only want a one night stand, that's not informed consent. If they say they just want to make out and you say yes and suddenly their hands are down your pants, that's not informed consent. If they-”

“Okay, Scott, we get it.” Derek is even more scowly than usual. “No lies.”

“Are we done yet? I did not get out of bed before two on a Saturday to go to sex ed. They already made me do that when I started high school.”

“Excuse _me_ ,” Lydia interjects in an imperious tone. “Scott is right. Consent is very important. There's no hope of having a mutually fulfilling, enjoyable sexual experience without it.” A smile spreads, slow and hungry, across her face. “And I think we all know how important _that_ is.”

“Not all of us, actually, thanks for that little reminder, Lyds.”

“Oh sweetie.” She pats his hand condescendingly. “You're still young. Give it time.”

“I'm two months older than _you_!” He sounds mutinous.

“And I'm beautiful.”

“We are so off topic right now. I'm pretty sure you're supposed to listen your alpha better than that, you know.” Scott is met with a sea of stares that say only _Make me_. “The other thing, about informed consent, is that sex can mean different things to different people. It's not all PIV, you know? So if you ask someone if they want to have sex and they say yes, I mean, what if they're expecting anal and you're expecting blowjobs? What if they say no because they think you mean anal, but they totally would have said yes to blowjobs?”

“I thought we were bros!”

“What? Stiles, we are, I swear-”

“When were you planning on telling me you like the dick, huh? I told you, like, _years_ ago!”

Scott's mouth closes with a snap as his eyes spring wide-the-fuck-open. Lydia hums to herself, a pleased, self-satisfied noise, and looks back and forth from Scott to Isaac again. “I—it's—I mean. Well, it's new, okay? I didn't even realize before and me and—the guy, we haven't really been, well, talking about it-”

Malia saves him. “So this is, 'do as I say, not as I do'?”

“This is 'learn from my mistakes so you don't get rejected unnecessarily.' The point is, be specific and direct because it can avoid a lot of confusion and hurt feelings and it will really, really help you out in the long run.”

“So now we're done?”

“One more thing, and then it's Derek's turn, and then we'll be done, but I was kinda thinking we could do something afterward? Pack bonding?”

“After this I just want to wash my brain out with lye.”

“Don't write it off too fast, Malia, it might come in handy someday.” Stiles gives an exaggerated wink and tries not to let Derek's barely-audible growl get to him. Specifically, to the boner parts of him.

“Are you kidding? I've been human for, like, ten minutes, my own body is weird enough without having to figure out someone _else's_.”

“Your funeral.” Another wink, huge and obvious and accompanied by cheesy trigger fingers. Everyone was pretty doped up at Eichen House, he's not even sure if Malia remembers their awkward (and definitely uninformed) fumblings, but if she does, she remembers that he called it off first—something about it just didn't feel right—before she laughed and agreed, saying, “Yeah, human bodies are weird.” The point is, he's trying to get Derek to growl again, which totally works... except he really didn't think that one through, and now every were in the room can smell how hard he is.

“Right. So, safewords! Are super handy, and very important if you're branching out into more... adventurous sex, but they're not just for kink and BDSM and things like that. I think it's reassuring to have one there all the time, just in case. And, uh, particularly with our group—I think we've all got some trauma, you know?”

Derek snorts.

“And you never know when something will come up, if you'll get triggered or if you'll just start thinking about something that makes you not want to have sex or be naked or whatever, it's really helpful to be able to let your partner know right away that something's up, especially if you're having trouble putting sentences together. I mean, except for Stiles, I think it's pretty natural to stop talking when we get upset. For anyone, not just supernaturals. And that's one more thing about consent—it can be withdrawn at any time. You could be literally about to come in someone (or vice versa) and if they say stop, you do it. People can want something and change their minds, or think they want something and realize they were mistaken, and that has to be okay. Listening to someone's 'yes' doesn't mean anything if you aren't also willing to listen to their 'no.' Everyone got it? Good. Now, I'm assuming from all the 'I could not hate you more right now' looks I'm getting, no one has any questions for me at the moment, but feel free to talk to me about this anytime. Anytime at all. Derek?”

Derek curses under his breath and drags Scott over to the other side of the room, but even Stiles-the-only-human-around can hear them arguing. “What the hell am I supposed to tell them?”

“Just, you know, what you told me the other day. About the-”

“You want me to explain _knotting_? To a bunch of ignorant, hormonal teenagers who are just going to think it's some freaky kink thing? Especially after your little lecture on safe-”

“ _Yes_ , Derek. They need to know, okay? Because they're ignorant, hormonal teenagers.” Isaac and Stiles trade offended looks, but know if they say anything, the conversation will be moved out of earshot. “What if it happens to one of them, or to someone they're with? You knew what it was and it still freaked-”

“Shut up right this second and don't say anything the whole time I'm explaining it and I'll do it. Just—don't tell anyone.”

“Okay. I mean, I won't say another word about that. But there is one more thing I want you to talk to them about. Uh. Diseases? Transmission of?”

“Fine. But you are going to start being quiet right now and not stop until this is all over.”

Scott nods and the two walk back to the rest of the group. Derek doesn't return to his seat, but goes to stand by the window, resolutely not looking at the ignorant teenagers in question while he talks. “So. Uh, probably this hasn't happened to any of you, because I haven't heard any of you gossiping about it, but it can happen. And I guess you should know, just in case. Werewolves—in certain circumstances—probably werecoyotes, too, but my mom never covered that—anyway, wolves can. Knot, okay? It swells up at the base and you get stuck to whoever it is for probably half an hour, so-”

“Why?” Stiles could kick himself, really, because Derek glances at him for just a second, but that's enough. That's plenty. He does not even want to start deconstructing the emotion in that look.

“The short answer is pheromones.” Derek sighs, aware that Scott will step in if he doesn't elaborate, and forces himself to give a sketchy outline of were mating practices, trying to make it sound more like a dry chemical process than a life-twisting soul bond. He hazards a glance up. Scott looks... vaguely proud? Isaac is floored, like his whole world just opened up. Ignorant, hormonal teen thinking about freaky kink things, every inch of him. Malia still looks bored. Lydia has that thin smile that means she's just barely holding herself together. He makes himself look at Stiles. He's so pale he looks like he might go into shock, but meets Derek's eyes for a split-second before bolting for the bathroom.

The movement seems to shake Lydia out of her trance, because she grabs her phone and darts for the door, whispering, “I have to call Jackson,” as she dials.

“She left her math book,” Scott observes wonderingly, then follows. “HEY LYDS. DON'T TALK AND DRIVE. IT'S DANGEROUS.” They all hear the sound of her engine turning over and driving away as the shout echoing down the stairwell fades away.

“Since you're talking, that means this is over, right?”

“Nope! Sorry, but you still need to tell us about diseases.”

“You're kidding me.” Malia rolls her eyes. “I don't even want to talk to anyone outside of the pack, and you're making sit through safe sex? You gonna break out the zucchini, too? 'Cause they did that at the school, too.”

“No. There will be no vegetables. But Scott said I have to tell all of you even though Deaton probably knows way more about this, so: humans and werewolves get different diseases. Were/human interactions are probably safe from a disease standpoint, but werewolves are very fertile. So if anyone might get pregnant, condom. Were/were, condom. Human/human, obviously condom.”

“Or a dental dam!” Isaac pipes up.

“Shut up. If you want to get tested, go see Deaton. Were STDs are relatively rare and haven't been in Beacon Hills for a couple generations, but you all are in high school, so you never know. And that concludes this little after school special. Now get out of my house!”

“Well, that was a resounding success and it doesn't seem like anyone is up for putt-putt, so I'm out. Isaac, want a lift?”

“Well, you drove me here, so, yeah. Asshole.”

Malia rolls her eyes and shifts, running down the stairs ahead of the two boys and streaking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't get over the look Derek is making (in my head) when Scott tells him he has to give the safe sex talk. Ahahaha!


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles waits until all of the noise on the other side of the door dies away, washes his face, takes a few deep breaths, waits some more. He tells himself—out loud, because some things don't change no matter how much time a guy spends with werewolves—that he should just go for it, it's fine, it's not like he can camp out in Derek's bathroom forever.

He's just reaching out towards the doorknob when he hears Derek's knock, loud and earth shattering. Okay, maybe just self-confidence shattering, but still. “Stiles? Everyone is gone. And I need to pee.”

“Right, right. Yeah, sure. Be right out.” He runs his fingers through his hair, forgetting—again—that it's longer now, there's no smooth velvet scalp to settle his nerves, and bursts through the door all at once, crashing right into Derek. Who won't meet his eyes.

“You're, uh, I can't get in when you're in the doorway.”

“Of course! Absolutely!” Stiles edges sideways, because Derek certainly isn't backing up, and tries to ignore the way the button of Derek's jeans drags against his flesh, the way Derek's shirt catches and pulls on his own. “That's a new shirt.”

Derek makes shifty eyes but doesn't argue the point.

“With really hard to read words on it.. Is that... it totally is, it's “The Raven” in the shape of an actual raven. In tiny print. Wow, does anyone know you're secretly old-school goth?”

“I thought-” Derek cuts himself off, ducks into the bathroom but turns around before he finishes closing the door. “Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't leave yet?”

“Oh-okay. Sure thing, buddy.” Stiles briefly amuses himself by wondering if he's being at all successful in imitating his normal self. Probably not. He flops down onto the couch and covers his face. He pretends not to hear Derek leaving the bathroom, but when he feels the cushion by his feet dip under the other man's weight, he cracks one eye and looks up. “Derek?”

The eye contact is instantaneous and overwhelming. “Yes?”

“Your wolf—I—that's never happened to you before, right? We're _mates_?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. You're my mate. Every wolf gets one. It's not—they always talk about how wolves mate for life and it's so fucking cute, but it's not really like that. Sexual monogamy does not exist in the animal kingdom. It's an emotional connection, really, it doesn't necessarily have to be romantic-”

“But it could be?”

“It usually is.”

“The knot is pretty much a sex thing, though, right?”

Derek shrugs. “You're my mate and that's that. I don't really get a decision. The wolf knows. But if you want to be my mate—that's up to you. And I don't want to, to—you're so _young_ , Stiles. If you realize later on that you want a normal life, a wife and kids-”

“Please, the 'Stiles having a normal life' boat sailed _years_ ago. No supernatural interference required.”

“I don't want you to miss out on things because of me. I don't want you to have anything less than the best, anything other than a full life. If we, if we decide to do this and you want to branch out, or you change your mind-”

“What would that mean for you?”

“If you just want to branch out and explore other things, other people, I can be cool with that. If you change your mind about us entirely.... for human me? It's another shitty breakup. For wolf me? That's it. That's—you don't get a redo on mates.”

“That seems pretty harsh. What if you don't like the person your wolf chooses? Or if they're freaked out by werewolves and take off?”

“They're almost always wolf/wolf pairings. The wolves choose each other. I've never heard of a situation when a wolf was mated to another wolf, who was mated to someone else. I've heard of wolf/human matebonds, but they're rare.”

“There were humans in your family, right?”

“Yeah, my... my dad, he never wanted the bite. And the twins, they were identical except that one had little fangs. Luckily she wasn't the biter.” Stiles has never heard Derek willingly offer information about his family before, has never heard him mention a single dead family member—or any family member, really—unless it was totally critical to solving their current crisis.

“Scientifically, that's fascinating and I'll probably have to pick your brains about werewolf genetics later. But that's not what I want to talk about right now.” He waits for Derek to ask the obvious question, then just answers it himself when he realizes that isn't going to happen. “I want to talk about how it suddenly makes so much sense that I've been obsessed with you since I met you. Not even after the whole thing with Scott, before. Way before. Would you happen to remember a scrawny awkward kid sitting in the sheriff's station when my dad brought you and Laura in after the fire?”

“Yeah... you smelled fantastic and Laura yelled at me for my inappropriate timing. She said Beacon Hills was tiny so I didn't have to worry about losing track of you and I could at least wait until you hit puberty to, and I quote, 'lock that shit down'.”

“Well, I have certainly hit puberty, so...”

“There's more to it than just that, Stiles. You're still—this is really hard for me to feel okay about. That's why I never said anything about it before. You're a teenager, and I'm in my twenties. It's... it's like Kate all over again.”

“NO. You don't get to think that, okay? Unless of course our entire relationship until now has been a lie and you're planning to kill my whole family in our sleep? Yeah, didn't think so. We're being honest with each other. We care about each other. And if you wanna, Iunno, take this slow or whatever, we can. I don't really _want_ to, mind you, but I want you to feel safe more than I want to get laid.”

“And the knot... it doesn't bother you?”

“Patience and lube, my friend, patience and lube. Dude, don't look so shocked, I've been on the internet. And if you knew the size of some of my toys, you would not even be worried right now.”

Derek's voice drops what must be several octaves when he says, “I would really like to know all about those.”

“That is totally doable! Is there—you want to do this, right? I'm not completely misreading the situation, you just want to make sure I really want this?”

“So bad, Stiles. Want this. Want _you_.”

“Okay, great. Awesome, actually.” Stiles sits up, finally, scoots over to face Derek. “Is there anything we could do to help you feel more comfortable about the sex part of this? Because like I said, we can wait, but I don't want to.”

“I don't really want to either. I'm more worried that—that you'll change your mind, that you won't want this in a couple months, or a couple years.”

“Look, that's just not how Stilinskis do things, okay? My mom and dad got together in middle school, got married before college, my dad has never even considered dating again. I don't do shit by halves, you know that. Trust me on the commitment side of things, and I'll do whatever you need to feel safe on the sex side of things.”

“I'm worried about hurting you. Toys, even big toys, aren't the same. I, uh... I want you to see the knot before you agree to have it in you, and I want to prep you really, really thoroughly, and I—would you tie me up?”

Stiles' eyes darken so fast he can feel the _whoosh_ of his pupils expanding. He gulps. “Yeah, I could do that. Definitely. Yes. Two things, though: tying you up will complicate prep, no?”

“Prep first, then bondage.”

“Works for me. Second thing: your uncle. He's... look, if we get walked in on by Zombie McCreepster, that could kill sex for me. Permanently.”

“He's out of the country. Took Cora somewhere. Shouldn't be back for months.”

“Shouldn't be back _ever_ ,” Stiles mutters to himself. He hopes that doesn't offend Derek—it's not like he has a lot of family left to choose from, after all—but he's pretty sure that smile, small and shy, means Derek's just as happy about the promise of alone time as he is. “Third thing: can I stay over tonight?”

“You—already? You don't think that's... fast?”

Stiles waves a hand at himself. “Seventeen.” Waves a hand at Derek. “Hot like Mount Doom after Frodo threw the ring in.”

“No jokes about virgin sacrifices, okay?”

“Hey! Just because I'm tactless doesn't mean I'm tasteless! Besides, I have been waiting for this for so long, you don't even know-”

“I think I do-”

“I would never risk ruining it with something so crass.”

“Sure you wouldn't.”

“Moving on! I'm gonna call my dad, ask him if I can stay over at Scott's. Then I am going to kiss the living daylights out of you. _Then_ I'm going to go back to my house to grab some... things and you're going to follow me in your car, unless you feel like piggybacking me back from Scott's house Edward Cullen style.”

“No, I don't, and why are we going to Scott's?”

“Because my dad is definitely going to drive by there and check to see if I'm lying.”

“Which you are.”

“Worth it!” he trills. “Look, if I thought I could be honest and still spend the night getting nailed by the hottest werewolf _ever_ , I'd tell him, but we both know that's not going to happen, so...”

“Before you call him, one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“When I went over to your house the other night... you said... you said that I'm the werewolf of your dreams?”

“Oh yeah. And they're good dreams, too. A little uncomfortable waking up from them sometimes, but so, so good.”

“Maybe later you can tell me about some of them?” Derek's face looks softer than when he'd asked Stiles to show him about the sex toys, open and vulnerable, but Stiles refuses to veer off-course. His focus is absolute.

“Holy shit, dude, I will show you just how much I approve of that idea. After.” He moves off the couch, the better to keep himself from jumping Derek's bones, and dials. “Heyyy, Dad. Just calling to tell you I'm gonna stay over at Scott's tonight. His mom's working a double and he got a new video game, so I'm gonna keep him company. See you tomorrow!” He barely hangs up before he's back on the couch, straddling Derek. “So much easier to lie to a voicemail.” Suddenly he hesitates, the momentum that carried him across the room halting. “This is okay, right? I can be on top of you? I can... kiss you?”

Derek nods, more and more enthusiastically as Stiles keeps talking, as their mouths draw closer and closer together.

Stiles' brash bravado has faded, and he brushes his lips lightly across Derek's before pulling back with an assessing look. “Dude, what if Scott is right?”

“Do we really need to talk about him right now?”

“No, I just mean—do you think we should have a safeword? Like, I'm pretty messed up about this whole possession thing, and I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say you probably have some baggage from your dating psychos period?”

“Maybe a little.”

“I absolutely do not want to trigger you, but if I do, I wanna know about it, like, right the fuck away. So I can stop whatever I was doing and say sweet things and give you little kisses all over your face.” He watches smugly as Derek's face turns steadily redder behind all the stubble. “You gettin' it now? I am all in. So, what's your safeword, big guy?”

“Never had one before.”

“Let's see... something easy to remember, easy to say... something neither of us will yell out by accident... How about... 'Finstock'?”

“Finstock?”

“Yeah. I mean, he was your coach too, right? Never gonna forget that name.”

“It would certainly stop me in my tracks.”

“Perfect! Unless you have a different idea?”

“No, that's fine.”

“Awesome. Now I'm gonna kiss you again.” He does exactly as promised, less hesitant, but still slow, still careful. (It's possible he has a bit of a hang up about not being a sloppy teenage kisser, especially when it comes to kissing actual adults). Their closed lips press together, again and again, before he opens his mouth just enough to lick at Derek's bottom lip.

It's like a dam bursts; the energy floods through both of them, overwhelming. It's all Stiles can do to grip Derek's shoulders and hang on as Derek writhes between his thighs, bucking up and moaning into the kiss that is no longer careful or measured or polite. Their mouths come together with a clash of tongues, pull apart just far enough for Stiles to catch Derek's lip between his teeth, come back together.

It's exhilarating; Stiles feels a little bit drunk. “Fuck, yes,” he pants into Derek's mouth. “You wanna hear about those dreams now?”

“Nnnngh,” is all the response he gets, but he chooses to interpret that as a yes.

Stiles pulls away from Derek's mouth entirely, ignoring the pathetic little whimper that causes, and starts kissing his way along Derek's jaw and biting down his throat. “I would say this is one of them, but the reality is a million times better,” he murmurs right into Derek's skin. “Also that particular one, we were wearing less clothes and in your car. That might be more what you'd call a fantasy and not an actual dream, but I think it counts.” Stiles rubs his cheek against Derek's before dropping down to nuzzle into Derek's neck. “You like this, don't you? Like having my scent on you? 'Cause that night you came to talk to me and helped me with the panic attack and stayed to cuddle... I had a dream about you while I was literally in your arms, don't know if you could tell, but in the dream... Jesus, it was a good one. New one, too. You knotted me and I came all over you, like, a bajillion times while we were stuck together but even after your knot went away, you wouldn't let me clean it up. You just rubbed it in. Said you wanted to smell like both of us.”

“I do. I... I would do that. But I would also eat you out after I came in you.”

“Fuck!” Stiles bites into Derek's shoulder, rutting his cock against the hard line pressing insistently into him. “You can't just... you can't just say shit like that and expect me to be functional. At least give me a chance to get my pants off before you make me come from your words alone, jeez.”

Derek's hands disappear from his hips.

“What are you doing? Why'd you stop touching me?”

“So you can get your pants off. And, you know, the rest of your clothes.”

Stiles drops his own hands to Derek's waistband, toys with the belt buckle. “I'd really much rather get your pants off. And, you know, the rest of your clothes.”

“I'm not sure how that's going to stop you from coming in your pants.”

“It totally won't.” Stiles lets loose a huge, dramatic sigh as he stands up and starts shucking layers of shirts. “But you better be naked by the time I'm done over here.”

“Pretty sure you're wearing more shirts than all my clothes put together.”

“We can't all be little wolfy furna...” Stiles' voice trails off, because he's pulled the last shirt over his head and can see again and is seeing, for the first time, A Very Naked Derek. Who is lounging back across the couch, legs splayed wide.

And touching himself. That is definite self-touching, languid and deliberate. Derek has one hand spread across his thigh, tip of his thumb just grazing the area where “leg” transitions beautifully to “ass.” The other hand is wrapped around his hard dick, stroking up and down at a glacial pace as his thumb teases the head peeking through the foreskin. “Are you ever gonna finish getting naked, or just stand there and drool all day?”

Stiles snaps his jaw shut and rubs the back of one hand across his mouth, other hand already pulling clumsily at his fly. “Wasn't even drooling,” he mutters, yanking his pants down.

“You had to check.”

“Rude.”

“I could be a lot more rude.” Derek smirks and spreads his legs wider. “I don't know if you're interested in this kind of thing, but I can be pretty... versatile.” Stiles somehow manages to get the rest of his clothes off without falling down, eyes glued to where Derek's fingers are trailing down to his hole, slowly circling the pucker.

“Interested. Yep. Definitely interested.” He kicks off his pants, toes off the one sock still clinging to his foot, and stumbles back over to the couch to collapse on Derek's lap. “But knotting first. Well, furious humping and making out first, you fucking the living daylight out of me second, me attempting not to make a fool of myself by fucking you third.”

“I can show you what I like.”

That comment effectively shuts down Stiles' brain, rendering him non-verbal but by no means silent. He moans into Derek's mouth, deepening the kiss into something that sears like fire, a hot line from his mouth, tingling down his spine and pooling in his pelvic floor. He grinds down harder onto Derek's lap, squeezes a hand between their torsos only to find Derek's already there. They wrap hands around their painfully hard cocks, interlacing fingers and fucking up in tandem.

Stiles comes first, shooting up onto Derek's chest with the first few spurts and spilling into their joined hands as his orgasm fades off. He doesn't get too much softer, though, not when he can feel Derek's cock swelling even further between their hands. “Fuck, man, is that your knot?”

Derek nods helplessly, head lolling against the back of the couch as he rolls his hips in a quest for more contact.

“Look, there's no way I'll be able to fit it all the first time, but I really want to try—can I go down on you?” Derek lets loose a long, uncontrolled moan that most likely started its life as a “yes,” and Stiles drops to his knees. “I've never done this before, so... tell me if I'm fucking it up, okay? I can take some constructive criticism.”

Stiles is a little more nervous than he'd like to admit, and takes his time working around to Derek's cock. It's no hardship, really; he thinks he might be able to get off himself just from this, from kissing and nipping and petting all that exposed skin. Derek is a masterpiece laid out just for him.

The thought fills him with impatience.

He feels Derek's come-spattered hands tighten in his hair as he wraps his own hands around the knot—he's not even going to try to fit that this time, though one day, it's totally gonna happen—and starts licking his own jizz from the head. He's tasted it before and thought it was okay (certainly didn't see what all the ewgross fuss he overheard in the halls was about) but suddenly, it is so damn delicious.

He feels, oddly, a little shy, even as the implicit power of his position hits him. He keeps waiting for Derek to tell him to stop or change it up, to do something other than what he is doing, but that doesn't happen. What does happen is that Derek starts in on a litany on everything that's amazing about Stiles, everything that's, “so perfect, shit, Stiles, couldn't even imagine anything like this, anything this good, so good, too good, you're so good for me, Stiles.”

Stiles finishes licking Derek clean and bends further to take the head into his mouth, sucking lightly and running the tip of his tongue under the edge of the foreskin. He moans at how _right_ it feels (not to mention Derek panting, “yes god just like that,” above him) and sucks more in.

He reaches down to stroke Derek's sack only to find that his balls are drawing up, full and tight. He pulls back far enough to whisper, “Do you want to come on my face?” in a newly rough voice, looking up through his eyelashes for Derek's answer and tonguing at the slit.

“Fuckyes,” Derek says. It sounds forced, like coherent thought is a challenge, and Stiles tries—admittedly, not very hard—not to preen.

Stiles bobs down once, twice more, meeting his fingers with his lips, before pulling back so the cockhead is just resting on his bottom lip before he starts jacking Derek hard and fast.

It only takes a second, and then there is semen _everywhere._

*

Stiles had insisted on at least toweling his face off, though Derek had managed to talk him out of actual washing with actual soap, but if he'd known the upshot of having Derek's scent all over him would be, well... _this_ , he probably wouldn't have argued at all. He murmurs something to that effect, peering at Derek's face despite the awkward angle of looking at someone occupied with (and buried in) his neck, stubble sliding roughly back and forth.

The response is muffled, but audible. “Smell so good.”

“I know, I know. I'm great. But,” Stiles shoves himself free of Derek with a mighty heave, “we came here to grab a few, ahem, supplies. And more importantly, to leave _before_ getting caught by my dad. So while I am beyond flattered that me bending over means you can't control your wolfy instincts for even the few seconds it takes me to grab my sex toys box from under the bed, you really need to get off of me.”

“Get you off, you said?” Derek, the hopeless dork, asks, draping himself right back over Stiles, snuffling a path across the nape of Stiles' neck.

“You are impossible!” Stiles tries to squirm free, but mostly just ends up arching his neck up into Derek's bite and grinding against Derek's crotch, which... okay. He only lets himself be distracted for a few seconds. “Just hypothetically, no impact on our night or anything, if you had a choice between having soulwrenching—not to mention kinky—matebond sex or getting hauled in by the county sheriff for dry humping his son, which would you choose?”

Derek doesn't say anything, but does un-drape himself and scoot across the room to lounge against the wall, legs spread and eyes half lidded. And then, because he has a truly spectacular view of Stiles' ass as the boy roots around under the bed, he palms himself lazily through his jeans.

The sight is almost enough to stop Stiles from talking when he turns around. Almost. “Do we need lube? You got lube?” He dumps the box out on the floor. “I'd like to bring this dildo—nicest shape—and this plug—biggest—but are there any you want to use on me? Watch me use on me? Use on yourself? I know we don't need condoms, but gloves are good if you wanna finger me beforehand, which I'm guessing you do, keeps everything nice and tidy.”

“What if I wanna rim you beforehand?”

“What?! Yes, okay, okay, that's a... yes. Okay. I'm gonna insist on that shower, you can always cover me in your spunk again after and, uh, I'd like to be clean on the inside too.”

“I don't really-”

“It's not about where you do or do not want to put your filthy wolf mouth. I've been to the dog park, I know how you kinky fucks say hello. It's really much more about me being able to relax. And also wanting to kiss you after.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Fine. But if you want me to knot you tonight, I will fist you first. Bring whatever toys you want; I have the rope already and I don't think I'm gonna get bored using just my mouth and hands on you for a while yet.”

“Shit, dude, we've talked about this. No dirty talking me to an orgasm in my jeans!”

Derek smirks and moves way up into Stiles' personal bubble, drops his voice to a whisper that should not be allowed. “Someday I'm really going to do that, you know. It's your fault, really, putting these ideas in my head. Just better hope I don't do it in public.” He stands up, one smooth motion, and is already walking down the stairs when he calls over his shoulder, “Now get that stuff packed up and let's go before your dad walks in one me blowing you.”

“Siryessir,” Stiles mutters mutinously, but does as he's told anyhow.

*

Stiles doesn't even wait for Derek turn the car off when the Camaro pulls in next to the warehouse; he swings into the man's lap fast enough to surprise him—werewolf powers by osmosis?— and yanks them into a brutal kiss, his teeth catching Derek's tongue and pulling it into his mouth.

They're both groaning by the time either manages to talk, blood hot and hard in the lines of their cocks, Derek's hands up the back of Stiles' shirt to grab his neck, face buried in the boy's sternum.

“Der... inside... naked... please...” Stiles pants as Derek shoves his shirts up to his armpits. Turns out he _really_ likes the scrape of beard across his nipples. And holy shit, dating someone with supernatural strength is literally the best, because Derek doesn't even stop, just reaches over with one hand to open the door and hauls them out as Stiles grabs for his backpack and wraps his long legs around Derek's waist. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, this is insane. Why did we put off doing this again?”

Derek kicks the door shut and strides toward the warehouse, wrapping his now-free arm around Stiles' waist when they get inside.

Stiles feels his brain start to go into overload, but he is so, so okay with that. The shower is too short and too long all at the same time; Derek's hands are confident and strong and _everywhere_ , washing him more thoroughly than he has ever been washed before, and he already wants to beg Derek to just put it in him already.

That all falls away when Derek sinks to his knees in front of him and sucks him down to the root. Stiles' brain just shuts down and he collapses against the cool tile, sagging down into the firm grip of Derek's hands pinning him to the wall. He's lost in the pleasure, in the feel of hot trickling down his chest, of cold pressing into his shoulders, of the incredible suction anchoring him firmly in his cock. He thinks that screaming is probably him? There's really nothing he can do so he just _is_ , letting himself float out on the sensation.

He comes back to himself slowly, looks down to see Derek lapping at his now-oversensitive dick with the same smug look Stiles suddenly realizes he's been wearing the whole time. “You must be the only person in the world who can suck cock while smirking.”

Derek flips the water off and dries Stiles with the same attention to detail he'd given the washing, guiding him firmly over to the bed as he does so. He arranges Stiles' limbs carefully, raising his ass and spreading his knees, before asking, “Remember the safeword?”

“I don't want to say it 'cause I get the feeling that you're about to do something really incredible, but, yeah, I remember. Just... do the thing already!” Derek does, indeed, “do the thing” (the thing in this case being rimming Stiles to the moon and back), so Stiles has to keep up the conversation all by himself. He's pretty sure it's mostly swears, but also remembers how cared for and safe he felt earlier, blowing Derek with all that praise floating down onto him like a down blanket, so he tries to articulate at least some part of the affection swelling his veins. “Shit, you're so... so wonderful, can't even believe... _Jesus_ , Derek!” He completely loses track of time, knows dimly that Derek has a varying and delightful technique, but cannot begin to say what it is. Reverse engineering is not one of his strengths at the moment.

He whines pathetically when Derek pulls back and rubs a wet chin across his ass but cuts off sharply when Derek says, “So you gonna show me how you use that dildo or what?”

“Shi... yeah, okay. Gimme a minute.” Stiles slumps forward onto the bed, face buried in the rumpled blankets but his ass propped up on his knees. “Bring me my backpack? I don't think my legs work.”

Derek mutters about lazy humans but does as requested, dumping the contents out unceremoniously in front of Stiles and then returning with one of their towels, still wet from earlier, and a pump bottle of lube.

“I brought lube!”

“Mine's better.”

Stiles heaves himself over and lays out on the towel spread across the bed. Normally, he'd do this sitting up, using his thighs to bounce up and down on the silicone cock, but he actually doesn't think his legs will work. He glances up to see Derek's eyes fixed on him, on the lube-covered toy now nudging at his hole, and grins.

“You don't... use fingers, first?” Derek's voice is low and harsh and perfect.

“Usually, yeah. I (shit) really like fingers (oh damn) but tonight (god) just need you (oh fuck yes) so bad.” Half of the toy has disappeared by now, easily, and Stiles slides his hand down to grab the flared base, pushes it further in. It's a stretch, but he's pretty relaxed from the rimjob, and it's not like he hasn't done this before. He's never done this and had it feel so good before, but he can handle that kind of change.

Derek crawls over; one hand settles at Stiles' entrance, stroking gently at the stretched-out rim as he uses his mouth and other hand to pet and kiss every inch he can reach. They stay like this for a few minutes before Derek wraps his own hand around Stiles', feeling the rhythm and angle of the toy before taking over entirely. “You're riding me tonight, baby boy,” Derek whispers, “but I still wanna know how you do it for when I'm on top of you.”

Stiles can't contain his moan at that, nor his begging. “Christ, Derek, you can't just say that and not fuck me, okay? It's rude, c'mon, I need you in me.”

Derek doesn't respond at first, actually slowing his press of the toy into Stiles, until Stiles makes a hilarious harrumphy face and rolls his eyes. “Fine, okay, no need to twist my arm.” Derek slips a glove on and shifts his weight so he's between Stiles' legs, kisses him thoroughly before sliding down, pulling the dildo out with his left hand as he sinks in with two fingers on his right.

“I can take more than that, stop teasing.” Derek scissors his fingers apart and squirts some of the cold lube directly into Stiles and slips a third in, but Stiles is having none of it. Three is no more of a stretch than the toy, and he has a mission. “More, c'mon, you feel so good, I need you.”

“I want you to be ready. I'm not going to hurt you, Stiles.”

“You know, I heard that it's actually easier to fist someone if you go one, two, four,” and his heartbeat doesn't stutter, so Derek figures he isn't _purely_ trying to manipulate Derek into just fucking knotting him already and relents. Stiles vocalizes the entire time Derek pushes his four bunched fingers into him, a long, wordless tone more like a song than a moan. The moan breaks up, little staccato groans as Derek starts hand-fucking him, rocking against his prostate every time he feels Derek's thumb thump against his taint.

“Fuck, Stiles, you look so good like this, so beautiful, so _right_ taking my hand, so open, love the way our bodies fit together, love the way-” and Derek realizes what he's doing, blushes as he buries his face in Stiles' thigh, sinking his teeth around a mouthful of flesh, sucking a swollen purple bruise in there.

Stiles screams at the pain but fists one hand in Derek's hair, shoves him harder into his leg as he grinds up into Derek's hand, greedily seeking more. “Der, god, your thumb, please.”

Derek unclenches his jaw and looks up at Stiles with darkened eyes. “Look at me.” He pulls his hand back until his fingers are only buried to the second knuckle, eyes locked on Stiles', pushes the tip of his thumb into the center of the clump of fingers, pushes his hand forward until Stiles' eyes start to flutter shut involuntary. “Look at me,” he repeats, and waits for Stiles before moving again. “Open to me.” The fat bulb of his knuckles is sucked in as Stiles comes, eyes squeezing shut, ass clenching, cock waving wildly as it jerks and spurts across Stiles' stomach.

Derek uses his unoccupied to hand to rub the come in as Stiles twitches his way through the aftershocks. “I think I'm ready for you to tie me up now,” he says as Stiles' eyes open dazedly. “You alright for me to pull out? Okay, just relax.” Derek wipes half the lube off his hand onto the rather sizable butt plug and slides that in—Stiles is so wet, so ready, _fuck_ —before scrubbing the rest off with the towel. He sniffs his hand and wrinkles his nose.

“What could possibly be wrong now, Sourwolf?”

“The lube makes my hand smell funny.”

Stiles sighs, long-suffering. “Oh come here, weirdo.” He grabs Derek's right hand and drags it through what jizz is left on his belly before wrapping it around Derek's cock, smirking. “Now you smell like both of us again. But seriously? It's a good thing you're about to get yours, because that's starting to look like a medical emergency. How do you wanna get tied up, puppy?”

Derek moves the towel to the center of the bed and lays down on it, wrists crossed above his head and legs splayed. “Like this. The rope is in the top drawer of my dresser.”

“Normally I'd say that's a little presumptive, but in your case—and I'm right. Wolfsbane bullets in case you get shot, mountain ash in case Stiles has to put up a circle real quick, wolfsbane rope. This is all stuff left from the alpha scare, isn't?”

“Kinda, but now it's mostly for Zombie McCreepster.”

“Oh my god!” Stiles grabs the rope and slams the drawer shut. “That's what I get for asking questions. You should probably just gag me in the future so I'm not at risk of ruining the mood every time I open my mouth.”

Derek hums, considering, but only says, “Get over here. I'm tired of waiting.”

Stiles can fucking believe it, as long as they've been at this—that blowjob was hours ago by now—and Derek's cock is starting to show red at the base, skin stretched tight and angry looking. He scampers over happily, ties first one ankle to the corner post, then the other. He straddles Derek's chest to tie his wrists, and shrieks when he feels Derek's tongue snake out and lap at his dick, almost falling over. “Careful, dude, I coulda put your eye out!”

“I'll heal,” Derek shrugs, testing the bonds. He hisses as the wolfsbane cuts into his skin but smiles up at Stiles, wide and genuine. “I'm ready. I feel safe. You're probably about as safe as anyone can make you be, so... get on my cock already.”

Stiles makes the trigger fingers and winks for the second time that day, because if you can't have fun during sex, you're most likely a horrible person who doesn't deserve to get laid anyway. He lubes Derek up before settling with his knees by Derek's head and his toes braced on either side of the man's torso, balances with one hand against the wall as he reaches behind him with the other to tug the plug out. “You like the view, big guy?”

Derek nods, mouth watering, and can't stop himself asking, “Why do you even call me that?”

“You—outweigh me—by like two hundred pounds—of muscle,” Stiles retorts in bursts as he lowers onto Derek's cock. “You have to tell me when it's gonna pop so I can stop bouncing, okay? I don't want to get stuck with it on the outside, that would be _such_ a bummer.”

“Okay,” Derek pants, craning his neck to watch Stiles sink down in one slow, unbroken stroke until he can't see a damn thing except Stiles' leaking cock pointing straight at him. He has enough leverage in this position to roll his hips even if he can't thrust properly, but he tries to stay still. He really likes the sound of this bouncing thing.

...Though not as much as he likes the feel and sight of it. Stiles is flushed and moaning above him, eyelashes dark crescents fluttering open and closed with each contraction of wiry but powerful thighs. It's difficult to know if the moments of searing eye contact or the sight of Stiles' eyes rolling back in pleasure are hotter, but luckily for Derek, he doesn't have to choose. Stiles is relaxed and receptive from all the prep, but nothing could take away from that unmistakable clench and tightness. His fingers dig into Derek's pecs as he holds on for leverage, and the slight sparks of pain are just enough to keep Derek from coming right away.

If Stiles had had any idea of how good this could be, how unimaginably different it felt with another person than with himself, he would have been beating Derek's door down months ago. As it is, he just decides to make up for lost time, riding Derek unselfconsciously and sighing the wolf's name every time he feels coarse hair pressing into his ass.

“Shit, Stiles, it's now, I can feel it... oh fuck,” Derek groans.

Stiles can feel the swelling inside him, presses his weight down as he wiggles his hips in slow figure eights. Derek's hips are rolling up to meet his own, and he'd thought it would hurt more, be more uncomfortable, but even though he can feel the stretch inside him, feel how incredibly full he is, it just... “Feels so right, Der,” he breathes. “Feels like I was made for this.”

“You were.”

Stiles rocks faster and faster, sure that Derek must be as close to orgasm as he is and wanting to make them come together. He likes this full pressure, this completeness, a hell of a lot better than he likes a fast thrust in and out and finds the perfect angle to rub against his prostate. “Fuck, Derek, I'm gonna come, oh my god, come with me, fill me up, fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

Stiles gets his wish. He can feel the hot pulse of Derek's semen inside him even as the knot swells even larger. The new sensation drives him over, adds to the sticky mess already smeared between the two of them.

The constant stimulation doesn't let him come down though, and he orgasms one more time, rocking his hips and thrusting into his hand, before he slumps forward and asks limply if Derek would like to be untied now.

“Only if you want another hand job while we're still stuck.” Derek illustrates his point by bucking up as sharply as he's able, smiling at the high-pitched moan that produces.

Stiles so, so does.

*

“I can... feel the pack bond,” Stiles murmurs some time later, idly thinking it should probably bother him that the side of his face is slowly getting stuck to Derek's chest with his own come, but really, just isn't. Derek shifts uncomfortably underneath him. “Did you know this was going to happen?”

“No. It's just, you're about to reali-”

“Oh my god, Scott just felt me get devirginized!” Stiles is obviously trying for his usual flail, but his muscles are wrecked, he's too fucked out and his body just won't cooperate. He looks (and feels) a little like a fish flopping around on shore. “Eh, whatever.” He sighs contentedly and snuggles even closer, nose nudging into Derek's armpit. “Nothing to be ashamed of. No one has ever had a more thorough, more spectacular deflowering than I just had.”

Derek frowns. “You haven't even fucked me yet.”


End file.
